


Of Boots, Jeans and Dresses

by bigsunglasses



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Dresses, F/M, Flying Sex, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsunglasses/pseuds/bigsunglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Jupiter Jones really misses, it's the dresses.</p><p>(Although sex with Caine is pretty good compensation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Boots, Jeans and Dresses

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat inspired by this prompt: http://jakink.dreamwidth.org/724.html?thread=7636

If there's one thing Jupiter Jones really misses, it's the dresses.

She's quite happy to deputise politics. Diplomacy. Finance. The military. As long as her name remains on the title deed to her planet, and her deputies obey a few simple rules (e.g., "don't kill everyone on the planet"), that's fine. Ruling ... isn't really her style.

But the dresses. 

The dresses had totally been her style.

"I guess I wouldn't have anyplace to wear them, anyway," she tells Caine on one of their regular sky-dates. "Kinda not suitable for drunken-night-at-the-bar. Or my-bitchy-cousin's-wedding."

They're flying leisurely circles several hundred metres above Lake Michigan, the water still and gleaming below in the starlight. Caine swoops closer to her, face concerned. "That shouldn't be a problem. You can wear anything you want."

"Nobody knows that I ... am who I am," Jupiter reminds him patiently. "And I want to keep it that way. Seriously, if I turned up in fifty metres of silk and living roses, they'd send me off for a psych eval."

"You'd be rescued quickly," Caine growls, face turning grim.

"That's so sweet!" Jupiter rolls her eyes. "But you'd kinda blow my cover, so overall it's best if I don't go off with the guys in white coats, okay?" She takes a few gliding steps to snuggle up against him. Grav-boots really help with the height difference thing. "Thanks, though. I like knowing I can rely on my winged werewolf boyfriend in an emergency."

"Werewolf is an incorrect term," Caine begins, for the thousandth time.

"Yeah, but I like it," she breathes, and kisses him. A moment later his wings come around to wrap her tight against him, and _god_ how she loves the feeling of feathers pressing through her clothes, all down her back, her butt, her legs. She winds her arms around his neck, kissing for all she's worth. Being with Caine is pretty switchy: either his lupine instincts kick in and she comes along for the ride (about ten times), or he's Her Majesty's humble servant. 

Right now, frustrated by the dress issue, she needs him in the latter mode. She needs to be his queen. His body is hot and hard like living steel against her curves, and her arousal is rising fast.

"Take my jeans off," she breathes, biting his lip, softly but firmly.

"What?" he says, blinking, slow and glazed with desire.

"Take them off. Now."

His eyes darken with lust. "Yes, your Majesty." He slides down her body. Her jeans float off down towards Lake Michigan and he rips apart her underwear. Briefly her legs seem cold and exposed, but then his wings are fluttering at her bare skin, his mouth is on her sex and she shuts her eyes, breathing deeply as her body melts like lava. His tongue is hot and wet, gliding up and down through her folds, and then he adds a finger, sliding it inside. Blood pounds between her legs and shakily she grasps his hair. His finger moves back and forth, and then his tongue darts up to her clit and - she gasps. Trails of electricity flash through her intimate skin and flesh. "Again. Just like that." He obeys, alternating long strokes with those swift licks, all the while moving his finger inside her to the tune of her body - She's shaking with longing, gripping his hair so tightly she can hardly feel her fingers. "Caine," she cries, and this time he fastens his whole mouth around her clit, sucking. Her orgasm comes instantly, an explosion of fire and light under her skin, the pressure of arousal breaking like a wave through her body ... leaving her desperate for more.

Exactly how this is going to work she's not sure, but she's learned not to let that stop her. Breathing hard, she moves till she is level with Caine. "Pants down," she tells him, and he gets them round his ankles so hastily that she grins. Yay for grav-boots: they let her climb up his body, embracing him with her arms, wrapping her legs around his hips, sliding onto his erection with barely a pause. He fills and stretches her completely. She bites his shoulder while she adjusts, then comes up for more kissing. He holds her so tight it's like he's trying to fuse them together, his wings encircling her, but there's just enough leeway to rock her pelvis, back and forth, back and forth. The fire and light, never having retreated that far, is coming back quickly. Her body thrums with building energy and judging by the soft whimpers in her ear Caine's near the brink too. She moves one of her arms down between their bodies, touching her clit as she increases the messy, desperate pace. Just as her second orgasm hits, she gasps out, "Come. Now." The feel of him exploding inside her only adds to her own pleasure.

Her last shudders have just faded when they hit the cold surface of the lake.

*

"We could at least have come down near my jeans," Jupiter grumbles through a mix of giggles and shivers when (boots temporarily fritzed, until they dry out) Caine has flown her to the nearest patch of shoreline. "I guess we overwhelmed the boots. And you forgot to fly. I, um, didn't notice us descending, did you?"

"I think we were preoccupied by other things, your Majesty." He's got one hand, like a personal hot water bottle, spread across the base of her butt. "I'll go look for your jeans."

Jupiter considers (a) the dropping temperature as evening turns to night, (b) the rising wind, (c) the relative likelihood of her jeans being findable, and (d) the fact that they'd been great-looking for date night but secretly kind of uncomfortable. "Don't. I can get another pair, even if I can't get one of the dresses I want so badly. But - " She looks ruefully at her boots. "You are going to have to fly me home."

He carries her piggyback-style, and possibly that was an error, because it puts Jupiter's sensitive and still-sensitised bits directly in contact with the rough fabric of his shirt, and she kind of has a couple more orgasms by the time he's slid them through her bedroom window (she can hear the rest of the family having some thumping argument, in Russian, downstairs). His body looks like he's ready for more, too, but after a few more - okay, many more - kisses, he pulls away. "Tomorrow, same time?" he says hoarsely, and she nods.

Then her winged werewolf boyfriend is gone, and she has a shower, though not before hiding her boots in her Very Secret Keep Out box under her bed. Even her most irritating and inquisitive little cousins have got the message not to touch it after the first few electric shocks ("it's educational!" Jupiter had argued loudly to various parents). She manages to shimmy into some PJ pants and a t-shirt just before her mother comes upstairs, muttering about something Vladie's done. 

"Oh, Jupiter, you're home. I didn't see you come in."

"I was quiet. Didn't want to get involved in the fight." She drops into bed, yawning, sated, feeling a lot happier than a few hours ago. "Night, Mom." 

Caine comes for her at the appointed hour the next day, just after she's arrived home from work and showered. As always she's feeling weary and wants nothing more than to veg out in front of the TV with a tub or two of ice-cream, but she knows that the moment she's out with Caine exhilaration will wipe away fatigue. Her boots are all better from their dip yesterday, and she shouts a goodbye to her family and walks off down the street. The moment there are no eyes upon her, she jumps up into the sky to join Caine, who's been swooping silent waiting circles above. "I'm really going to have to introduce you to them soon." She grips his hand, running higher up into the sky after his lead. "I know you're nervous but we can dress you in more normal clothes, grow your hair to hide the ears - "

"I don't want to lie to them," he says, over a rising wind as they reach higher parts of the atmosphere. "I'll come as I am."

She stops in the air, heart leaping. "You will? When?"

"Name your time." He smiles at her in that uncertain, shy way of his that contrasts so much with his competence and strength. "But right now - " He drags her higher suddenly and then she catches a glimpse of a characteristic glimmer in the starry sky. A cloaking device. 

"Caine?" she asks, and she's the uncertain one now, just as they fly through an open porthole and end up in a small office on a spaceship.

There's no danger, Jupiter realises instantly - Stinger's there, and the other people who are running Earth on her behalf, and everyone's smiling. "What's going on?" She's still clinging to Caine's hand.

"If you'll come with me, your Majesty," says a woman firmly, and Caine and Stinger nod. _It's a secret_ , mouths Stinger elaborately, and Jupiter shrugs and goes along. If there's some weird rebellion brewing and she's chucked out of the ship, she can fly down home, after all.

It's not a rebellion.

It's a dress.

Somewhere on the glorious border between gold and rich, vivid yellow: made of something silkier than silk, and impossibly light, like she's wearing foam or sunlight. Her shoulders are left bare, her cleavage looks amazing, and the skirts trail almost weightlessly like a flame in her wake. When the woman has finished with Jupiter's coiffure, it's up in curls and apparently unadorned ... except that every time she moves her head, golden fireworks - actual tiny fireworks, but which don't burn - burst across her hair.

The Jupiter in the mirror really looks a queen. Not an uncertain pawn in Kalique's and Titus's lovely gowns, but a queen in her own right.

"What's this for?" she asks. The woman merely grins and ushers her back to join the others.

"You arranged this, didn't you?" she accuses Caine, sniffing away an urge to cry.

"He, uh, finetuned some details," he says, indicating Stinger. "But. Yes. Mostly me. Come through this way."

"What, there's more?"

Stinger throws her a wink. "There's no point in dressing up ... without an audience," he tells her, and opens a door, and, oh yeah, there's an audience all right. In some huge docking bay. About ten thousand of them.

"The pick of your Majesty's faithful troops defending Earth from any interested opportunists," Caine explains from just behind her - he and Stinger and the others have fallen into a sort of respectful trail. "Listen to that cheer. Now their loyalty's become personal. You look ... amazing."

The cheer is rocking her to the core. It starts to settle into a chant of _Majesty, Majesty_. There's a path laid out for her to walk between the ranks, and she follows it, trembling a little, but so happy. The fireworks on her head are also in her heart. She shoots out a hand and grabs Caine, tugging him forward to walk at her side.

"Your Majesty!" he protests, looking very ill at ease. 

"Queens need consorts," she says, not letting his wriggling hand go in the slightest. "Also, you're meeting my family later tonight, when we go back."

"Are you sure that's not too soon?"

"Who's the one in the queenly dress, here?"

After a moment, he returns her grip. "You look ... "

"I know. We can do this again? Please?"

He grins, and she grins, and with her free hand she waves to her soldiers. 

A safe family, a safe planet. Gorgeous dresses on demand. A winged werewolf boyfriend.

Life is _good._


End file.
